


The True Nature of Percival Graves

by Funkspiel



Series: Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme Fills [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Gellert Grindelwald, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Body Horror, Dubious Consent, Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme, Forced Lactation, Forced Orgasm, Implied Mpreg, Impregnation, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Manipulation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Omega Original Percival Graves, Omega Percival Graves, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, suppressants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8949805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme Fill:Grindelwald is as alpha as it gets, but he has no idea that Graves is an omega.Imagine his surprise when he comes home one day to find the Director writhing on the floor in heat, broken and bloody from trying to suppress the heat on his own. Graves needs release and Grindelwald is willing to help.+ Graves rutting against Grindelwald's leg against his will++ Multiple forced orgasms





	1. The True Nature of Percival Graves (Heat)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [珀西瓦尔·格雷夫斯的天性](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542732) by [annebaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annebaby/pseuds/annebaby)



He had been so careful, so _fucking careful_. After all, preserving the idea that he was an Alpha had been crucial to his career. The magical community was ahead of the times in comparison to the No-Majs' standards, but the wizarding world in America was still stunted in so many ways. An Omega, after all, could not be an Auror, let alone lead them. Too gentle for that, they said. But thankfully, there were ways around it. And after years of suppressants and blockers and various potions – Graves was believed to be an Alpha. After years of grinding and working his ass off and besting every challenge society could throw at him – _finally_ , he had made it. Director of Magical Security, a leading position in MACUSA.

No one looked down on him at meetings. No one scoffed at the direct and confident tone he spoke with. No one questioned him. He was well and truly respected, and so long as he remained diligent with his suppressants, no one would ever be the wiser. He’d always be Percival Graves, one of the most fearsome wizards of his time. Biology did not control him, and while he was often asked when he would gather himself a ripe, beautiful Omega to pass on his strong wizarding genes, no one blinked an eye at the fact that he was not bonded. Not like if he had continued his life as an Omega once he presented.

He had been on suppressants since Ilvermony, when he first presented. He could still remember the kind nurse at the school who gave him his first set – kind and knowing in the face of his utter heartbreak at having presented as something with so little potential in society. 

And now, his secret was quickly unraveling around him. On top of everything else that had happened – kidnapping, torture, the theft and invasion of his own memories – after everything, his suppressants were finally running thin in his bloodstream. Mid-captivity. Now. While he was quite literally left vulnerable to the whims of a mad man.

He shivered as warmth continued to leach into his skin, rising from his core in such a way that he had not felt in years since that first heat. It felt like a nightmare, it had been so long ago. His ruse had been so good for so long, even he had forgotten the truth of things. Being an Omega was a fleeting fact in his mind he rarely acknowledged, because he never needed to.

Now…

He groaned and writhed unto his back, hoping that the cool air of his prison would relieve the fire that was slowly crawling through his veins. He hoped desperately that it was something else. A fever, maybe; it could be an infection from any number of abrasions Grindelwald had left upon him. But he knew the truth. He had known the truth when the heat had begun to sink its fang into him a day ago. The truth of his biology was unfurling like some dark creature kept in hibernation for all these years suddenly waking up. Pent up and hell bent on following its instincts now that it was awake. He had made his knuckles into a bloody mess when he first realized it. His prison, a small silver cigarette case that Grindelwald always kept on his person, hadn't let out even so much as a peep in comparison to Graves' enraged shouting when he had first begun to punch the walls of his prison. 

He was sweating. The thin clothing that Grindelwald had allowed him to keep – torn up and ratty as it may be – was quickly becoming a prison of its own. Clingy and aggravating and intensifying the rising temperature of his skin.

‘ _I can do this. I did it once before, I can do it again. He may not come. He may never know. It’ll be fine. It won’t be that bad,’_ he thought to himself, trying to calm the quickly rising staccato of his heart. ‘ _It’s been years, after all. Maybe it doesn’t even function that well anymore…’_

And then the first wave hit him, flooding his muscles with a cramp so fierce it pulled an unwilling keen from his throat. This was worse than any curse Grindelwald could have inflicted him with. Now all Graves could do was wait and hope the man stayed away until the heat had passed.

He should have known he wasn’t a lucky man.

He was on the floor, muscles seizing as another wave of cramping flooded through him, when the telltale crease of light above him signaled that Grindelwald was releasing him from his pocket-sized prison once more.

“No,” Graves breathed and twisted as if to hold on to something, but it was too late. Smoke engulfed him, and before he knew it, he was blinking down at his hands – knuckle deep into the soft carpeting of his flat.

“My dear Graves –“ Grindelwald started, his face still transfigured to look like Graves and grinning in such a way that Graves would never grin; but then he stopped and the grin slid slowly from his face. He took a step back, assessing the poor creature that Graves had become, before a soft huff of true surprise blew past his lips.

Graves looked up at him through his lashes, skin shivering as though he were a horse trying to shoo flies, and prayed to whatever deity there might be that for whatever reason, Grindelwald would not notice. But instead, Grindelwald took two long, deep sniffs and a smile cut across his stolen face.

“That smell… Nooo,” he said, wagging his finger down at Graves as though catching the man redhanded in a prank. “No, this cannot be so.”

Graves shuddered for a completely new reason now. He knew. Grindelwald _knew_.

“Shut up,” he whispered, voice hoarse from days of silence.

“Oh this is _rich_ ,” Grindelwald said, but instead of immediately breaching his space as Graves had expected him to do, Grindelwald magicked up one of Grave’s finest armchairs and plopped down right in front of him – as if watching something spectacular. “An Omega. Really, Graves?”

Grave’s eyes flashed with a rage he hadn’t had the energy to feel for days now, malnourished as he was, and snarled. “I said, shut. Up.”

Grindelwald whistled, his brows high on his forehead.

“You know, you’re not supposed to speak to your more domineering betters that way, dear thing. After all, you are the fairer sex.”

Graves shook his head, but did not answer. While fury still bubbled viciously in his blood, he knew that getting riled up would only get Grindelwald excited – and that was the last thing he needed right now.

“What do you want?”

“Well, originally I came to acquire some information about a particular case from your mind. But this, however, looks like it will be _so much more fun._ That other matter can wait,” he said, and Graves tried to ignore the unabashed way in which Grindelwald stared at him – eyes roving all over his person. “You know, you’re lucky. I know that there are suppressants, but if you weren’t built as solidly as you are, no one would ever believe you’re an Alpha. Explains the height, though. You are quite small for a man of such “power”.”

Graves wanted to lunge for the man’s throat – to show him just how powerful he was. But another wave of cramps hit him. He bit clear through his lip trying to stop the moan that was building in his throat, and once it had passed, he felt weaker for it – his limbs heavier, his mind number. He shook his head to focus, his hair a sweaty mess in front of his eyes. His mouth tasted fiercely of copper.

“How long?”

Graves blinked. “What?”

“How long have you been on suppressants?”

“None of your damn business,” Graves snarled through heavy breaths, nostrils flared.

“Years, at least,” Grindelwald finished for him, pleasantly ignoring his answer as though he were not there at all. “That’s a long time to let your heats build up there, Percival. You know what happens to poor fair Omegas that don’t go through healthy, proper heats, don’t you?”

Graves clenched his jaw tightly and glared, hoping that his face didn’t give away the fact that, _no_ , he did not in fact know what to expect from this.

“I guess you’re about to find out,” Grindelwald said with a grin akin to a boy on Christmas morning. “It’s close now. I can smell it. Not quite leaking yet, but soon. Just there, right on the cusp.”

Graves moved as though to rise, but with a nimble wave of one hand from the man in his armchair, Graves felt a sudden weight upon his shoulders, keeping him on all fours and forcing his face and shoulders flat to the ground, ass in the air. Presenting, he realized with a dull, dreadful twist of horror. Graves snarled and wriggled to no avail. 

“Thank goodness I went with Transfiguration and not a Polyjuice Potion,” Grindelwald mused, leaning back in his chair. “Now what a discovery that would have been if such a heat had hit me. Can you imagine it, dear Director? A man of power such as yourself suddenly in a bull pit of Alphas, all smelling _you._ Ripe and sweet and reeking of honey as your pants grew wet.”

“Shut up,” Graves said, wishing he could blast the man away, place his hands over his ears, _anything_. Instead, all he could do was listen – and addled as he was, he didn’t have the mental fortitude _not_ to think of the images Grindelwald was describing.

“That’s all you want though now, isn’t it? Secretly, you probably always wanted it. For someone to notice you – the real you. To see you as the challenge you are and to take you. To bend you over the ornate desk in your office and open you up slowly, first with their fingers,” Grindelwald said, and he when he paused, Graves made the mistake of looking up just in time to catch the man lewdly dipping his tongue between the V of his thumb and pointer finger and smirking, “or maybe tongue? Would you like that?”

‘ _No,’_ was what was supposed to spring forth from his mouth. He was thinking it vehemently, but instead all that came was a low, pained keen as he felt something stir deep in his gut. And suddenly, he was thinking ‘ _no_ ’ for a very different reason.

Grindelwald smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes. So they’d start with their tongue, pulling pleasure from your bones slowly and with great vigor because it’s not every day you get to bring the pride of the MACUSA down to his knees. You’re really like a stallion in that way, Percival,” he said, and suddenly it was _Percival_ now and not  _Graves_. “Proud and dangerous and just waiting to be broken in and tamed. Just think of it. Hands in your hair, pulling, rough, as they finally give you what you’ve been missing for all these years.”

“Don’t fucking say it,” Graves rasped, his blood thick and pounding in his veins.

“A nice, thick cock putting you in your place.”

And Graves yelled and twisted against the magic that held him – furious and terrified as the first slivers of lubricant began to weep from his ass. By some stroke of luck, the sheer strength of his indignation burst him free from the light hold that Grindelwald had been forcing upon him. It was then, in that brief moment of surprise, that Graves rose and flung a hasty spell across the room. He was wandless, which was no real struggle for him – but panicked as he was, he was not controlled. So instead of sending the bookcase at Grindelwald as he had intended, he sent half of the bloody furniture on one side of the flat at Grindelwald instead. Not that Graves regretted that one bit.

He didn’t, however, stick around to see if the spell hit home. He caught the faintest flash of a shield raising from the corner of his eye before he was hightailing it across the apartment – desperate to get out of the wards that he knew the man had set and into fresh air where he could finally apparate away. 

But he was also hard – painfully so – and so very, very aware of the slick slowly oozing down his left leg. He hissed through his teeth as a spell came whizzing over his shoulder and exploded a light fixture from the wall; but he didn’t stop. Not until a spell wound around his feet. He quite nearly managed to side step out of it before it could wind around his ankles completely before a weight – _the weight of his own stolen body –_ caught him at the hips and tore him down into the hallway, just in front of his bedroom with the fire escape he had been heading to.

“No,” he keened, desperate and clawing at the rug as he tried to pry himself free. “No!”

“Now, now, Percival,” Grindelwald snarled with fake pleasantness, grabbing at his prisoner’s hips and forcing him onto his back beneath him. “Don’t be that way. I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me?” Graves burst out, wide eyed and disgusted, “You’re trying to, to –“ He just couldn’t quite force his lips around the word ‘rape’, though; as if saying the word would make it unavoidable.

“To help you accept your true nature.”

“Fuck that!” Graves snarled, then thrust his head forward – colliding painfully with Grindelwald’s own. It was painful. Mind numbing, really, but Graves was too high on the fact that escape was _right there_ to stop. So with a great roar, he twisted until he had his attacker beneath him and raised one hand to curse him into a different motherfucking timezone when suddenly a knee rose between his legs to meet him.

And all the magic that Graves had been trying to summon sputtered weakly at his fingertips as a desperate, helpless cry broke free from Graves’ throat.

“There we go,” Grindelwald crooned, reaching up to grasp Graves’ waist – thin, now that he thought about it, not very Alpha like at all – and guide him along his knee.

“N-no,” Graves muttered frantically, but already his eyes were rolling in his sockets; his head lolling as his hips began to grind mindlessly against that wonderful, hard pressure against his crotch. And then between one blink and the next, Grindelwald had him pinned beneath him once more – knee still planted firmly between Graves’ legs as the Omega rutted helplessly against him. Grindelwald smiled down at him fondly, as though he were cute in his sudden inability to control himself. Graves' face felt on fire.

“You know, at first I thought, _no_ , surely you couldn’t be an Omega,” Grindelwald purred down at him as he leaned into Graves’ space, nibbling on his earlobe, driving him up a fucking wall. “You’re not quite that sort of pretty. Handsome, yes. I don’t think anyone would doubt you were an Alpha, or at the very least the top of the Beta food chain – but an Omega,” Grindelwald pulled back so he could watch as his thumb pulled gently at the open 'O' of Grave’s mouth and toy with his bloody, swelling lower lip. Graves’ lashes fluttered against the flushed expanse of his cheeks, overwhelmed. “Now I can see it. You have your own, terrible beauty about you. So pretty. So, so pretty.”

 _‘I’m not pretty!’_ Graves wanted to howl, but instead poured all his focus into trying to stop his hips. He just… He couldn’t. Damn him, but it felt good, _beyond good_  – that friction, pouring more and more heat into his bones until he felt like flame incarnate. He tossed his head back away from Grindelwald, hoping for a breath of clarity, not realizing his mistake until a wide, hot tongue lashed slowly across that sacred gland upon his neck that had not been swollen enough to spot for so, so long.

Immediately, he melted – eyes a haze of pure bliss as his body reacted tenfold to what would normally be a sensitive but not totally overwhelming gland to touch, not unless they were knotting and bonding. Grindelwald pulled back to look at the Omega beneath him and chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from Graves’ face with a fondness that didn’t befit his once torturer. As though he had never been violent a day in his life - as though he couldn't, now that Graves was fragile and soft and Omega. Graves’ shuddered, momentarily unable to move.

“Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable, shall we?”

And then they were in a different room altogether, and in his haze, Graves couldn’t quite tell if they were even still in his apartment or if the man had taken down his wards to apparate themselves somewhere else entirely. All he did know was that the heat in his skin was worse, so much worse now. His breath felt like a labored, heavy thing in his chest. He could barely tell up from down until he realized that he was being deposited on a bed.

His clothes were gone. When the fuck had that happened?

“N-no,” he tried lamely, writhing as strong hands took his ankles and forced them up and back, legs splayed. “No!”

 _‘No, don’t rape me,’_ his mind screamed.

 _‘No, that’s not the right way,’_ his body howled instead. He whimpered, confused.

“Shush, shush, shush,” a voice said as though he had said the words aloud, and when Graves looked between his legs to see the owner of that voice, his voice, all he could see was himself. “I’ve got you.”

And then there was a tongue – hot and probing and making him writhe anew. He didn’t want this pleasure. He didn’t want it from that man and he didn’t want it like this and he didn’t want it from this fucking body because _he was not an Omega._ He wasn’t. He was powerful. He was useful, damn it. He could be  _so much more_ than a warm hole to fuck. He wasn’t a slave to his fucking biology! He had proved that. He had climbed his way to the top. He was better than this! Society said an Omega couldn't lead, but he did it. They said wandless magic was for the strong - the elite- and so he learned it. He clutched his fingers tight into the bed sheets and tried to perform magic – _anything_ – but then a finger was added next to that tongue and _touched something_  and all he could do was cry out instead, his hips bearing down on that lovely pressure and –

White consumed his vision as strong arms wrapped around his waist to hold him through his first orgasm. It was a good, long moment before his shuddering quieted. A moment longer for him to register that someone was crying. Another, to realize it was himself.

Just when he thought he couldn't hate himself more.

“You did so well,” Grindelwald said from above him, the length of his body pinning him down – still dressed to the nines and looking like every inch the Alpha that Graves was quickly realizing he would never be. Cool thumbs brushed away his tears even as Graves worked hard to swallow them away and control himself. He ducked his head to the side, eyes staring blankly at the wall as he tried to calm down. “So, so well. I knew you’d like that.”

“W-why are you doing this?” Graves had meant the question to sound angry, enraged, but instead he barely got it out on a breathy plea.

“Because I realized the moment you began to emit that lovely smell the potential you had, dear thing,” Grindelwald said, bracketing Graves’ head between his forearms and forcing him to look. And at Graves’ questioning look, he smiled. “You’re much too narrow-minded, Percival. It’s a pity, I agree, that a wizard as skilled as you is an Omega – but there’s another, more beautiful side to that revelation, don’t you think? Omegas are rarely as… _gifted_ as you, my dear. It is no secret that you bested many _Alphas_ to receive your post as Director of Magical Security. You're strong. Willful. Driven. Imagine the offspring you could bring into this world. Powerful like their mother,” he purred, stroking Graves' stomach, then grabbing Graves’ wrist with his other hand and forcing Graves to touch the heat of Grindelwald’s own crotch, “and their father.”

“No!” Graves shouted and coiled up, ready to shake his double off; but Grindelwald had anticipated it. Instead, he just found himself melting into the mattress once more as the man lavished his throat. Every warm stroke upon his bonding gland sent another wave of drowsy calmness through his veins, making it hard to focus and even harder to remember why he was even resisting in the first place.

“You want this, Percival,” Grindelwald said, his hands exploring the Omega’s body, making him twitch and whine. “It’s what you were bred to do. To bring a new class of power into this world. One that might finally change it into what it always should have been.” He leaned close to whisper into the overwhelmed gasp of Graves’ mouth. “Ours.”

Grindelwald stripped, quickly, efficiently, eagerly without ever losing his place above Graves. Graves blinked lazily, out of body as he watched the Alpha return to kneeling between his legs – hard length pressed against his slick, over-sensitized opening – and there was something distinctly not good about that, Graves thought with a frown. What was it…?

And then Grindelwald sank in, slowly, inch by inch – dark eyes devouring Graves face as the Omega's eyes rolled in his head. Once he was in to the hilt, he leaned down to pepper the shivering Omega with kisses. Grindelwald traced down his jawline, his hips drawing out all the while, until finally settling on a nipple. With a quick nip to that little bud, he shoved back in, pulling a howl from Graves as the man tossed back his head. With a soft lick of apology to the little bud, he drew back again.

He waited like that, head just barely in and enjoying the way Graves’ hole fluttered anxiously around it, until finally the repressed Omega moved to look at him again, eyes nearly closed, breathing hard, pupils blown. Grindelwald grinned and kissed the sensitive bud once more, looking for all the world like an innocent lover.

“Imagine it, Graves,” he said as he slowly drove in again, now lavishing the other nipple. Graves groaned and tried to remember _why_ he was upset. This was wrong. Why was it wrong? He knew it was… “Imagine the way that these will grow heavy with milk. How your stomach will change for me. Plump and ripe with life. You’d look beautiful. You were meant to be that way. Barefoot and heavy with child.”

“No,” Graves whimpered, shaking his head, holding onto the thought of _wrong, wrong, wrong_. He was meant to protect. To enforce. “No, no, no, no…”

“Yes,” Grindelwald said on a breath, kissing Graves’ stomach as he fucked him gently – every pass stroking that little something that lit a fire in Graves’ bones. Every pass becoming harder for Grindelwald to withdraw on until finally his knot was too fat to exit Graves' opening altogether. It didn’t stop the man from thrusting minutely into Graves body, though. It only forced the bloated knot more and more heavily upon his prostate. Driving Graves crazy. “You were wasted on that shoddy department. They can’t even tell that you’re _gone_. You were meant to be here. Beneath me. Legs spread and keening. Desperate and milking my knot.”

And with that last stroke, Graves came again. And Grindelwald soon followed after, lifting a boneless Graves up until he had him on his lap – his cock sliding even deeper home because of it. Graves moaned, hands fluttering around Grindelwald’s arms and shoulders. He wanted to force the man away. He wanted to cling on for dear life. He didn’t know what to do.

But his body seemed to. It ground down upon the knot lodged in his ass and milked it for all it was worth, pulling drag after drag from the man as Grindelwald nuzzled his bare neck.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Grindelwald said, leaning back to look at Graves. But Graves couldn’t meet his eyes – although a voice shouted at him in his mind to stop acting like a damn Omega and fucking address the mad man – and instead he looked down and away, breathing hard, face flushed. Grindelwald smiled and brushed away a lock of hair once more so he could see the man's dark, conflicted eyes. He could feel how Graves was getting hard between their stomachs once again; no doubt from the knot. Not that Graves understood that.

“See, you want this. I’m barely moving and you want this,” Grindelwald said, making Graves shudder. “You've cum twice now without me ever having touched you here," he said, grabbing hold of Graves' red and bobbing cock - making the man whine prettily, ashamed. "So sad that you deprived yourself of what you truly deserved all this time. A strong Alpha between your legs. You don’t have to pretend anymore, dear thing. Just let go.”

But something flashed in Graves eyes, and suddenly, he was making eye contact again. Grindelwald’s smile twitched and faded.

“I’m more than that,” he said. “This heat will end and MACUSA will find you. That’s if I don’t fucking kill you first.”

Grindelwald cocked a brow at him and thrust up, hard, making Graves keen as he purred, “Bold words, Percival.”

“Director Graves,” he corrected on a broken breath, shuddering, trying to keep the frayed edges of his control together. So close to unraveling. So close to perfect and willing and soft. 

“Director,” Grindelwald mocked. “The average heat last two to three days, my dear – and repressed as you are, likely longer.” He twisted them suddenly until Graves was practically bent in half beneath him once more and on his back, Grindelwald’s cock a hot, deep length within him as he grinned maliciously down upon him. “Let’s see how you feel after several _days_ of orgasms, shall we?”

And then he began to thrust again, slowly backing Graves over yet another edge of pleasure. And another. And another...

When "Graves" returned to the office after several days of absence - smelling of sex and power and mating - everyone congratulated him on having finally found an Omega after all this time. ' _If only they knew,'_  Grindelwald thought with a wry grin and a bounce to his step. ' _If only they knew.'_

He pat the breast pocket of his coat fondly, the cigarette case a beautiful, solid weight within it - soon to be heavier.


	2. The New Nature of Percival Graves (Lactation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended to continue to write this, but between a few requests for more and a prompt that inspired me from the kink meme, I bring to you chapter 2. I am trash.

Conditions improved incredibly after his heat finally ended – much to Graves’ annoyance; as if a lush bed or the illusion of freedom would somehow make him fonder of his kidnapper turned rapist. The fucking gall of that man.

Just the thought made Graves’ skin crawl as he paced the generous space that Grindelwald had transformed his cigarette case prison into. Gone were the weeping walls and harsh concrete floors, instead replaced by a large and ornate four poster bed, lush blankets and pillows, carpets that comforted Graves’ bare feet, and quite an assortment of books.

Graves refused to use the bed, though. He refused to partake in anything his captor offered that might transform his incarceration into anything other than what it was. The first time Grindelwald had found him curled on the floor with nothing but the thinnest blanket out of his many plush options, the dark wizard had ended up resorting to the Imperius Curse to get him to use the bed. As if Graves’ health was suddenly something of concern, something precious to be monitored and upheld.

It made Graves’ stomach twist just thinking about it. How the unwilling reveal of his biological nature had somehow swayed Grindelwald’s perception of him. He was no longer a wizard to be carefully held under lock and key or to be taken seriously. He was an _Omega_ , something rare and precious to be coddled and spoiled and groomed.

Which Grindelwald did quite often. Gone were the grimy, overgrown locks that his imprisonment had earned him. Instead, he was left with soft, silky hair that Grindelwald kept immaculately trimmed and maintained – not like his style from before, sleek and gelled back and powerful – but something softer. The man had allowed some of the buzzed hair along the edges of Graves’ head to grow out into something long enough to comb one’s fingers through. And as though that weren’t enough, with the soft pass of his thumbs the Alpha had removed the silver that he had gained from stress and age. It made him look years younger. More gentle and inviting. More Omegan.

And that was not the only thing that Grindelwald had altered to better suit the image of a man of Graves’ _nature_. After ruining Graves’ old tattered clothing during his heat, the man had decided to generously replace what he had lost. But instead of crisp white shirts or pressed pants, Graves was left with a simple decision: dress in the loose, elegant silks that Grindelwald provided or walk around naked – which given Grindelwald’s new inclination toward _rape_ , Graves had no intention of doing.

So pained as it made him to consent to anything the dark wizard gave him, he wore the thin silk garments that Grindelwald left out of him each day; as if charmed into existence with or without Grindelwald’s direct presence.

Today, the madman had provided nothing more than a pair of slinky black silk pants that flowed like water over Graves’ skin. It was a strange shake up from the norm. One that Graves, in hindsight, should have known had more significance than he anticipated.

He was halfway through a set of rigorous pushups – unwilling to let his body decay since it was the last weapon left to him – when a telltale pop fired off behind him. Then all at once, Graves felt the strength to hold himself up leave his muscles in a slow, delicious rush that left him slowly melting to the floor – relaxed, sleepy, and pissed as fucking hell. A spell.

With a dark glare, he tried to snarl at the man now walking into his line of sight, but couldn’t manage much more than a soft rumble. Instead, he was forced to watch from the floor as Grindelwald swept back his grand coat and placed his hands on his hips in disappointment. He was still wearing Graves’ face today, something he hated if for nothing more than the fact that it was a glaring reminder of everything he had been – no one would have ever guessed he wasn’t an Alpha, not looking like that. Standing tall, broad and imposing, confident, dressed to the nines. No one would have ever known, until Grindelwald. Until the fucking heat.

Grindelwald clucked his tongue, and Graves felt rage flood him, but all it did was make his cheeks burn. Something he knew the Alpha loved.

“My dearest Director, why do you insist on this sort of behavior?” He asked as he kneeled to pet damp hair out of Graves’ eyes. Then he brushed a thumb soothingly across his sweaty brow, as though quite fond. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

That incited just enough rage that, for a moment, Graves felt Grindelwald’s calming hold on him slipping. He locked onto that fire and managed to use it jerk his face away with a disgusted look. He got as far as bracing himself up on his forearms before the spell came down upon him again – heavier this time – until finally Graves found his cheek against the plush carpeting once more. When what should have been a frustrated growl only managed to come out as a soft, desperate keen, he flinched. And hated himself.

His body started to shake from the effort of fighting Grindelwald’s spell, something he wasn’t even aware of until a large hand – _his own fucking hand_ – suddenly began to run soothingly along the long line of his trembling body. After one or two firm strokes, he felt his body finally fully relax and let out a small, dry sob of frustration.

“Shush, shush, shush,” Grindelwald crooned lovingly as he continued to pamper Graves’ body with gentle touches. Graves knew it was his biology fucking him over. That without suppressants and so close to the Alpha he had just shared a heat with, his body was simply reacting on instinct. Biological coding. It didn’t make the sting of betrayal any better.

Under the deft attention of those hands, Graves’ found his mind slowly slipping into a comfortable haze. His breathing steadied and his heart slowly ceased its racing until he was somewhat close to a doze. His eyelashes fluttered gently against his cheek – far longer than any Alpha’s lashes would ever be, he noted with disgust – as he tried to stay awake and aware.

“I hate seeing you like this, darling,” Grindelwald said, his hand moving to cup the back of Graves’ neck. If possible, Graves felt his body slacken more. He bit his lip and tried to remember that this was the man responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocent people, No Maj and magical alike. That this was the man that had _kidnapped him_ and _stole his face_  and _raped him_.

But the haze kept building, as if compelled, until finally Graves could do more than sigh softly against the floor. It was then that Grindelwald shifted him onto his back and gathered him up into his arms. And Graves could do nothing more than loll uselessly, his nose tucked against the man’s clavicle, as he was ushered gently to the bed. The gentleness with which the dark wizard cradled him made Graves want to tear his own hair out. _They were enemies. He was the fucking Director of Magical Security for all of America._ And yet Grindelwald treated him as though he were made of glass. It sickened him.

He had expected the man to lay him out on the bed like some decadent desert. To spread his legs and take him as he had countless times since his heat. Instead, Grindelwald kept Graves huddled in his lap as he shifted himself into a comfortable position against the pillows and the headboard. How he managed to make Graves look small in his grasp when they both wore the same skin was beyond him – but it wasn’t the first time he had felt a spike of fear at the thought that the loss of his suppressants had not simply affected his heats but in fact his entire body. Despite exercising, he could not help but feel as though he had lost muscle mass. His hair was beginning to grow in finer around his extremities. He hadn’t needed to shave as often any more – something Grindelwald had noted quite pleasantly during one of his many grooming sessions.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t notice when the man dropped his transfiguration spell. Limbs grew beneath and around him until he was even more dwarfed than he had been before in the arms of Gellert Grindelwald. When he looked up at the man with a weak glare, the dark wizard only smiled.

“I love seeing you like this,” Grindelwald said gently as he brushed a stray hair from Graves’ brow, fingers trailing down to touch plush lips. “Soft. Gentle. Just as nature intended you.”

This time, Graves actually did find the strength to growl. But his attempt to bring his hands between himself and Grindelwald’s chest and push away were not nearly as successful. He felt as meager as a kitten, and the fact that Grindelwald insisted on looking at him as if he were one disgusted him to no end.

“I am more than my biology,” Graves snarled weakly.

“I know,” Grindelwald agreed, making Graves flinch as the dark wizard brought up a free hand to gather one of Graves’ wrists. “Why do you think I gave you these?”

Gentle fingers traced the elaborate tattoos – long, circling, spiraling bracelets of ink that were as beautiful as they were _terrible_ – that laced across the pale skin of Graves’ wrists. Graves’ flinched and drew his hands back to his chest, but the reminder was there all the same. It had been a painful experience, receiving the marks. Actually, it was the last painful act of torture Grindelwald had bestowed upon him since his heat.

But it was also the worst thing he had done to him.

Unlike the manacles which, with time and precision and dedication, could be flooded and broken – these marks attacked him in a far different matter. Just the thought of it made Graves’ cheeks burn in frustration and anger and _embarrassment_.

Because now any act of magic on his part, no matter how small, resulted in one thing: desire. Small acts were not so bad. A simple _Lumos_ was pleasurable, but not unbearable. But the problem was that the desire did not fade with the ceasing of the spell. It lingered – heavy and dull and hot in his stomach – and it’d build with each spell. Build and build and build until he was left as a writhing ball of distraught agony on the bed – leaking slick and humping the silk sheets erratically, desperately searching for a release that only the bestower of those marks could give him.

And that was just little spells. The one time he had tried to hex Grindelwald into another fucking century, the spell has dissipated before it could even hit the man – and instead, Graves had immediately fallen to his knees with a desperate, keening cry. He had never even experienced an erection fill so quickly, so solidly, in such little time. As if he had been on the edge of orgasm for hours instead of completely soft mere moments ago. Slick had gushed from his asshole immediately in a burst that set his cheeks afire, and all the while, Grindelwald just smiled.

“You’re maturing so beautifully, my dear,” Grindelwald said, cupping his cheek, breaking him from his thoughts. The dark wizard only snickered fondly when Graves shot him a disgusted glare. “It’s true. I never would have guessed it, looking at you that first night. But now that those filthy suppressants are out of your system… So pretty.”

Graves pulled away and nearly succeeded in toppling back away from his captor if not for the arm that suddenly tightened around his back and pulled him in again.

“Why are you doing this?” Graves asked. “The room. The… The _gentleness_ ,” he gasped out in loathing.

Grindelwald blinked in genuine surprise, then said, “Because, dear thing, _you’re with child,"_ as if it were as obvious as the color of the sky.

And the flood of sheer shock and panic that followed was enough to overcome Grindelwald’s compulsion and send Graves scrambling away. Grindelwald let him go, until finally Graves was standing once more at the foot of the bed – chest heaving, eyes panicked.

“No.”

“Yes,” Grindelwald said, kindly and slowly as if speaking to someone particularly dumb. “Did you not know?”

“I’m not pregnant,” Graves reiterated, his heart a heavy hammer against his chest.

He tried to ignore Grindelwald’s small, knowing smirk when he subconsciously found his hand trailing to the hard plane of his stomach. No, he wasn’t pregnant. He couldn’t _possibly_ be pregnant. He couldn’t possibly be fertile at his age and after years upon years of suppressants. It couldn’t be true…

“I can prove it, if you don’t believe me,” Grindelwald said, and suddenly he was rising from the bed and approaching. Merlin, was Grindelwald  _taller_ than he had been last time he visited? Graves’ felt his breathing start to come in shaky, faltering gasps. He shook his head and looked around with wild eyes, as if there were an escape to be found that he had just never noticed before.

There was not.

“Don’t come any closer,” Graves growled, hand outstretched. Magic was curdling just beneath his skin, reacting to his fear and ready, _ready_ to be let loose. But his wrists felt tight and warm where the tattoos began to thrum against his veins – a warning. He whined through grit teeth, trapped and terrified and unknowing of what to do. Fuck, he missed the days when he used to know what to fucking do.

Instead, all he could do was watch as Grindelwald approached him like he were a wild animal, arms outspread and placating. Grindelwald was expecting him to use magic, Graves just knew he was. So instead, he did the only thing he could do. He lunged out deftly to punch him; all his rage and his fear sending him forward with a speed he didn’t think he was capable of.

He landed a solid hit across the man’s jaw, making him stagger back. The victory of a connected hit rushed through Graves’ veins and urged him forward for another. He managed to land one more blow before a flicker of something white hot and dangerous flashed across Grindelwald’s eyes and he caught Graves’ next blow with one hand.

It stopped Graves in his tracks, and no sooner did Grindelwald catch his attack than he whirled said limb in a deft move that spun Graves into the opposite direction. Then that arm was levered up his back, making the auror yelp as a spike of pain lanced up his arm and began to burn from the manhandling. The strange angle also pulled at his chest, making him ache. He grimaced and bit down a whimper before it could manifest. He tried to wriggle out of the hold, training flickering through his head, but Grindelwald already sent a quick kick at his ankle and brought him down – all the while following until finally he had Graves sitting on the floor, his back to Grindelwald’s chest.

“Now that was dirty of you, Director,” Grindelwald said darkly against his ear, out of breath. Graves couldn’t help but feel a little victorious for that, at least.

“Says the man that stripped me of my _magic_ ,” Graves snarled, pulling to free himself from the long, strong arms that embraced him.

“Wouldn’t want you getting away and going back into the field, darling,” Grindelwald said, smiling into the soft skin behind his ear. “Not while you have something that belongs to _both of us_ within you.”

Graves’ felt his skin shudder as a large hand came to rest on his flat stomach, thumb brushing gently against his skin. He snarled and struggled again, but Grindelwald just held him tighter until he tired out once more.

“Just imagine it. You’ll grow soft here,” he said, rubbing him still. “And that softness will grow heavy until you're swollen with our child. So round you can’t even get up from sitting without effort. Tottering about unsteadily from the sheer girth of your stomach.”

“I’m not pregnant,” was all Graves could manage to say, breathing wrecked as he shook his head. He’d say the words like a fucking mantra until they were true.

With one arm still barred around Graves’ waist, the other lifted up slowly – up and up – until finally it settled on a nipple. Grindelwald grinned into his shoulder and kissed the skin he found there.

“Are you sure, darling?” He asked, then pinched it – hard. Despite himself, Graves yelped. And somehow the burning from before increased. His heart picked up its pace.

“Stop it,” he said.

Instead, Grindelwald just tweaked him again, sending a jolt through his body. Graves trembled.

“Usually milk doesn’t come until later in the pregnancy,” Grindelwald said as he strengthened his hold on Graves’ hips and arms – holding him still as he began to firmly massage Graves’ pec. “But I added something _special_ to your food the moment I smelled your scent change. In fact, you should be quite close to producing. Only a little, but it’ll be the proof you need, I think.”

“Don’t.”

But the hand didn’t stop. It just continued to knead and press and fondle until the burning in Graves’ pectoral turned from uncomfortable to raging. He squirmed, trying to avoid Grindelwald’s hand, but only ended up pressing himself even more firmly into the Alpha’s back. With a shudder of horror, he keened beneath the man’s administrations. Graves tried to convince himself that this was just a show. That nothing was going to happen and Grindelwald was just riling him up for his own amusement.

“Good boy,” Grindelwald crooned, “Just like that.”

And then Graves felt a small, almost imperceptible pop and the pressure finally pushed through, sending a thin but firm squirt of milk arcing across the floor. Graves’ breath caught in his chest and very quickly he felt a burning begin to build in his eyes.

“No,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Grindelwald purred, and suddenly Graves was being twisted. Shocked as he was, he didn’t even put up a fight until it was too late and he was already straddling Grindelwald’s lap. With wide eyes, he pressed against the man’s chest to get away but the Alpha merely looped a strong arm around him and growled.

Graves didn’t have much more warning than that before a set of familiar lips attached themselves to his agitated and over-sensitized nipple. He gasped as first a tongue lapped across the little nub with a flick and then lips sealed over it completely before Grindelwald's cheeks hollowed out into a fierce _suck_.

Graves keened and tossed his head back, overrun by the sudden alien sensation of having something forcefully _pulled_ from his body. His hands trembled against Grindelwald, torn between pushing away and just fucking holding on while Graves tried to make sense of the sheer bombardment of sensations flooding through him.

Fingers pushed and prodded at the sides of his pec, urging him to produce, and once they went evidently content with that, they moved to his other nipple and began to tweak that, too.

And all the while, Graves felt a hole open up in his stomach as he realized with no small amount of dread that his dick was slowly but surely crawling to attention between them. His pants felt damp.

“St-stop,” he whimpered, trying to push away.

Surprisingly, Grindelwald seemed to listen. With a smile and a lick across his lips, he pulled back to take Graves in – and his smile only grew when he noticed how ravished Graves looked. Mouth open, eyes slitted, chest heaving, left pectoral red and swollen and slick.

“Did you know that an Omega’s milk has magical properties to it, dear thing?” Grindelwald asked with a grin, and when it was obvious that Graves was not going to answer, he just continued – all the while playing with Graves’ other nipple. “It’s important for the growth of the child physically, yes, but it also works like a supplement to better one’s magic. Of any age.”

When the implication finally slithered into Graves’ head, Grindelwald grinned at his horror.

“Why do you think I wanted to kick start your mammary production so soon? Because every suck,” he said, bowing down to lick Graves’ nipple, “Every pull,” he said, nibbling it til it grew wet with more than just spit, “and every sip will make me stronger. _You_ will make me stronger.”

And finally with an open mouthed kiss to his right pectoral, Grindelwald breathed against him, “You’re so good to me, my Omega,” and before Graves could say a thing about it, _sucked_.

Grindelwald began to visit every night, after that. And with every night that passed, Graves was able to give a little more – each milking taking a little longer than it had the night before. Grindelwald never gave him a shirt again after that, far too content to let Graves get acquainted with his changing body. His pectorals didn’t turn into breasts, per say, but they did grow heavier – swollen and painful by the time Grindelwald returned to him each night.

And Graves always fought it.

But Grindelwald always won.


	3. An Ancient Place

Graves sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, and brushed tentative fingertips along the slender markings that encircled his ever thinning wrist. He was growing frail – no, not frail. Frail wasn’t the word, not quite. It bespoke age and fragility. He wasn’t frail. But he was diminishing from what he had once been. The suppressants had kept him strong; broad and stocky, his frame tightly corded with hard earned muscle. His body had not been the body of an Omega. Short for an Alpha, yes, but he had earned his illusion with blood and sweat and tears.

And now, in mere weeks, Grindelwald had taken even that from him.

His body was no longer his own.

His wrists had thinned; beautifully, _horribly_ slender and easily compounded and held in one hand whenever Grindelwald so wished to force himself upon him. He had lost muscle mass in his arms and shoulders, his ability to pull away – _to fight_ – slowly ebbing despite his daily exercises. He had lost _height_ , of all things. Something that Grindelwald loved to lord over him, placing his chin atop Graves’ head as he encircled him with long, strong arms from behind and held him. Like some great, grinning spider; spewing poison into his veins. Large hands on the place where his abs had once been, now softer – slowly growing outward. His chest sore and somewhat heavy atop it.

He didn’t need to look to know how his stomach was pooched ever so slightly into a gut in his lap. Small still, but present. And to Graves, it felt as heavy as an anchor, weighing him down to the bottom of the sea where he might drown beneath the overwhelming evidence that he was very much in fact an Omega. Grindelwald had seen to that.

He watched his hands tremble.

“Don’t focus on what you can’t change,” Graves muttered softly beneath his breath, grasping onto his training like a lifeline while trying to ignore the ever so soft break in tone that betrayed the fragility of his mind. He focused his gaze on the tattoo that Grindelwald had branded into his skin, twirling ever so softly at his touch like ink displaced in water, and breathed. “Focus on what you _can_ change.”

And to do that, he had to go to the start. With a soft, choked sound he refused to acknowledge as anything even resembling a whimper, Graves closed his eyes and tried to ignore everything that was wrong – the heft of his growing gut, the shrinking of his bones, the wasting of his strength, the heavy hum of power at his wrists – and instead focused inward. In and in and in until finally he was somewhere safe.

It was another technique trained into him as a young auror. He could still remember his mentor drilling it into him.

 _“Make a safe place in your mind, Percival,” the grizzled old auror had said, an old friend of his father’s. “A place that only you can reach. So that_ when _you get captured – because believe you me, boy, you_ will _get captured – you have some place to go when they start taking every last piece of you away. Every morning when you wake and every night, before you sleep, I want you to go to that place. Make a habit of visiting. Make it more of a home to you than your real home. Make it easy to access, as simple as closing your eyes. If you do, then at least there’s one thing they can’t take from you. And when they try, go there. Let them pull the bones from your body and the nails from your fingers – it won’t matter. You won’t be there to see it.”_

So when Graves opened his eyes, it wasn’t to the sight of the lush bedroom Grindelwald had made for him. Rather, it was to the sight of something familiar. Something soothing straight down to his bones. His office. But not just any office. Not his office at home or the one they gave him when he was promoted to Director of Magical Security. His _first_ office; when he had first made lead detective with the aurors. A small thing, barely more than the size of a closet, tucked away to the side of the bullpen. It had three glass walls, all looking out onto his fellow aurors. Not that it mattered, what with the papers and strings and articles he had taped to them all. Once, they had detailed his cases – changing depending on what he was currently working on.

Before Grindelwald, they had outlined the string of killings that had begun cropping up throughout New York, distinctly magical in nature. Now, they all covered the story of one man – Gellert Grindelwald. Notes on little tidbits Grindelwald let slip when he didn’t think Graves was listening. Small details he didn’t think to cover, like how the mud on his shoes meant he frequented the docks far too often to be coincidence or how the smell of smoke thick on his coat meant he had probably been doing shady business at Gnarlak’s bar. All these things, big or small, were plastered along the cool glass walls of his safe place.

The door was closed, as it always was. There was no _outside_ to his safe place. But through the brief sections of glass that weren’t wallpapered with Grindelwald’s misdeeds, he could see the bullpen of the auror’s department. Aurors from his past and present glided outside the window as if nothing was amiss. They spoke to one another, discussing cases old and new from Graves’ memories – fingers flitting through files, quills furiously scribbling of their own volition, and people coming and going with various degrees of urgency. It was here that Graves felt most at home, surrounded by the ghosts of his career.

Here, he was dressed as he pleased. Casual slacks, a thick leather belt looped through a set of tight, comforting suspenders that looped up and over the crisp white cut of his button down shirt. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loose around his throat. His coat – his _old_ coat, not the one that Grindelwald had stolen from him but the one from his youth – was draped across the back of his desk chair.

He was _strong_ here; broad shouldered and tall, like he had been. Like he should be.

But even here, he could not remove the chains that bound him, even though he tried. If he thought about it long and hard, and kept it at the forefront of his concentration, he could will the ink around his wrists into an illusion that left them barely visible. But if he so much as diverted his attentions even a little, it would surge back up to the surface of his skin, twirling madly about his flesh. There was no escaping the curse that Grindelwald had laid upon him. Not yet.

He crossed the small width of his office to stand behind his chair and frame his desk with one hand at either end, bow his head and finally _breathe._ It left him in a shudder, making the fringe of his inky hair flutter as he closed his eyes. Nothing he had tried so far had worked. Magic only fed the compulsion – the horrible, fucking disgusting _need_ that grew and burned and seared through his veins until it left him on his knees and damn near begging. But magic was his strength, his life, his blood. It fixed everything. It kept him safe. It allowed him to do his job, to be _good_ at his job. It kept him alive. It had never failed him before.

His breath hitched as memories from that night flickered in his mind. He clenched his hands against the corners of his desk and anchored himself. No, not yet. Not unless he had to.

He’d start somewhere more manageable. He’d start with the pain.

He’d start with the night he got them.

Maybe somewhere in his memory, Grindelwald had slipped up. Maybe somewhere, he had revealed some clue as to their removal. Maybe…

Graves pulled out his chair and settled in. He braced his feet and grasped his arm rests and grit his teeth. And with two large, steadying breathes – he prepared himself and closed his eyes.

It didn’t take much to fall back into the memory.

_A punch, hard and unforgiving, caught his jaw so harshly he felt his teeth rattle weakly in his skull. It brought him down, fast. Left him without proper vision for a good second, before he realized someone was holding the lower half of his face in a firm hold – palm over his mouth, fingers biting into the hinges of his jaw and the faint meat of his cheeks. Grindelwald lifted him, compelled him up until he had to support himself with his forearms to keep the weight of his body off his neck. His vision faltered and he blinked up rapidly at the man that had captured him, struggling to remember what had brought them to this point._

_Ah, right. He had tried to use the killing curse without a wand and almost killed them both. It had missed and hit a mirror. Dregs of powerful, unrestrained magic had flickered in multiple directions as a result, rebounding every which way – and by some miracle, or perhaps curse, had missed them both._

_And Grindelwald was_ furious.

_“Where are your chains, my dear director?” Grindelwald said through his teeth, and by the frigid tone Graves could tell he was barely holding himself back from finishing what Graves had started. Or at least at the time, that’s what Graves had thought. Now, he knew better. Now he knew Grindelwald’s anger had not stemmed from the fact that Graves had quite nearly succeeding in killing him._

_His anger stemmed from the fact that Graves had quite nearly succeeded in killing himself, and in doing so, the life that grew within him. The life that Grindelwald had planted._

_With Grindelwald’s palm atop his lips, Graves could hardly answer. Not that he would have. But it didn’t take long for the dark wizard to spot the broken manacles, discarded by the head of the lush bed he had crafted for Graves after his heat. Flooded and shattered after days of patient trying._

_There was a brief moment where a flash of pride crossed Grindelwald’s face. It was quickly swallowed by annoyance. The man sniffed disdainfully and clenched his jaw ever so slightly tighter. Graves could swear he heard his bones creak._

_“Ah,” he said, unnatural eyes gliding back down to lock on him. “Well that just won’t do, now will it?”_

_Graves wanted to lift a hand to try again. At point blank range, who knew what a wandless killing curse would do… kill them both, probably. But it’d be worth it. The price of his life was worth the result of one less genocidal madman in the world. His hand twitched on the floor where it held him up, but before he could summon even so much as an iota of energy to himself, a familiar shoe heel – his shoe heel – crushed his hand flat against the plush rug of his prison. Beneath Grindelwald’s palm, he bit back a scream._

_Pressure still on his hand, Grindelwald knelt down unto his haunches until he was nearly eye level with the director and shook his head despairingly._

_“I don’t want to hurt you, dearest,” he said. “But look what you make me do. It must be all that naughty, left over energy from your days as an “Alpha”. Not to worry. I hadn’t intended to use this unless absolutely necessary,” he said with a tone that made Graves believe the man had every intention of using whatever he had in mind from the moment he realized Graves was an Omega, “but you’ve left me no choice.”_

_Then the hand at his jaw wound around to the back of his neck, lightning quick, and_ squeezed _. Graves’ eyes rolled up and he moaned weakly, his body seizing once before melting completely into the touch of the Alpha that had so recently bred him. Suddenly his limbs felt as useful as putty, and he could do nothing as Grindelwald reached down for him and gathered him into his arms as if he were no more heavy than a child._

_Graves’ lashes fluttered weakly as he fought against the biological compulsion that had been forced upon him. But he could barely remove his cheek from where it pressed against Grindelwald’s chest, let alone extricate himself from the man’s grip. And Grindelwald knew it, too, if the amused – and predatory – look he cast down upon him was anything to go by._

_In Grindelwald’s arms, Graves trembled._

_“D-don’t,” he managed, fire burning in his chest even as his body sighed weakly in the dark wizards’ grasp._

_Grindelwald grinned, and then they disapparated – and for the first time in weeks, Graves was out of the blasted cigarette case… only to realize that they were somewhere not even remotely close to civilization. Graves scowled, managing to move minutely in order to look around as Grindelwald began to carry him through a narrow hallway. They were in a crypt of some sort or perhaps some catacombs. Something old and cold and underground. Wet walls and weeping stone. Silence broken by the broken tittering of water droplets in the dark. It smelled of deep earth, wherever they were. Of old magic and dark ways. Graves shuddered._

_“Hush,” Grindelwald said, his tone oddly soothing, as they made their way through the dank halls into a grand room framed by pillars on either side. And at its end was a large looking pool or spring, the water so still and so clear Graves could see to the bottom of it. The bottom of which was covered in glistening gold coins and shimmering jewels and the spoils of a dozen different treasures. All of which glowed beneath the surface, illuminating the pool in eerie light. At its center stood a great altar carved of stone, it’s based covered in a soft, spongy algae and otherwise unremarkable. But something whispered in Graves’ mind that things were not always what they appeared._

_The ceiling arched up and up, and when a free drop of water landed with a soft ‘plit’ on Graves’ face, he knew immediately they were somewhere no one would be able to help him. The water was old and powerful. It spoke to him down to his very bones, singing through his blood, quivering down to the core of him where his magic bubbled weakly in exhaustion from having flooded his manacles and casting the killing curse. And in the curious reflection of Grindelwald’s eyes, he saw his own eyes flash brightly for just the fraction of a second. And Grindelwald smiled._

_Dread pooled in Graves’ stomach, and suddenly he knew he had to be free. With a desperate wrenching jerk of his body, he flailed just strongly enough for Grindelwald to drop him._

_His collision with the hard stone floor was jarring. It swept the wind from his lungs and set every bone a rattle. He barely got so far as all fours before a hand wove its way into his hair and yanked him up to his knees, back bent in a grand arc to look up at the madman above him. There was concern in those eyes for a moment, a look that baffled Graves, but it quickly bled into a familiar sneer when Grindelwald realized he was fine._

_“So desperate, dear heart,” Grindelwald crooned, his smile kind and his eyes cruel. “Do you know where we are?”_

_No. No, he didn’t. But somehow, his body knew. His magic knew. His blood knew. Wherever they were, it was old and powerful and nothing good. He tried to pull himself free with an angry snarl, but Grindelwald just yanked him back tighter._

_“Well, do you?”_

_“No,” he growled. The stone bit into his knees. He thought he might be bleeding._

_He was. The stone drank from it greedily._

_“Good,” he said with a grin that showed almost all his teeth. “I want it to be a surprise.”_

_And then, suddenly, he threw Graves back down onto the ground. The director just barely caught himself with his hands – grazing off a thin layer of skin in the process – before his face could break his fall. He gasped, then hissed, his knees screaming beneath him._

_“Now, remove your clothes or—“_

_Graves didn’t let him finish. With a swift twist and a long leg, he kicked out and hooked his ankle behind one of Grindelwald’s before pulling the dark wizard’s feet out from under him. The blond maniac fell onto his back with a crack that would have left Graves’ own skull aching in sympathy if it had happened to any other man. As it was, Graves didn’t give Grindelwald so much as a moment to orient himself. He quickly crossed the space between them and climbed atop the man – hands searching through the pockets of familiar cloths in search of the his stolen wand._

_His fingers just barely brushed against it when Grindelwald levied a blast of wandless magic of his own against him. It hit him at his sternum and hefted him a good foot into the air, leaving him breathless, before sending him crashing to the ground – but not before a soft cushion caught him before he could land, easing the fall. Graves’ brow furrowed, confused, but Grindelwald was already on his feet._

_“So feisty, Percival,” Grindelwald said, his name a thick purr on his tongue that left Graves trembling furiously. “That’s what I like about you. Always such fun. But we really must get this going, darling.”_

_Graves drew himself to his feet and brought up his fists once more. In his bones, he was tired. His magic was a weak and tentative thing – ebbing and flowing like the tide after having so heavily abused it to tire out the manacles Grindelwald had shackled him with._

_So he’d have to make do with fists._

_He lunged forward and Grindelwald rolled with it, taking the punch in order to get in an attack of his own. With two fingers pressed to Graves’ shoulder, he let loose the softest of shocks – just hard enough to turn his muscle to mush. Graves let out a short shout, more startled than anything else, before using that momentum and Grindelwald’s temporary distraction to lash out with his other elbow. It caught the man at the temple, making him stumble._

_Graves surged forward, slamming the dark wizard with a fist to the shoulder, followed by another to the cheek before Grindelwald finally sent him stumbling back with a wave of magic just strong enough to leave him reeling._

_They stood a few feet from each other, breathing heavily, before Graves finally went in for another attack – unwilling to wait for the man to make the first move. When he threw his final punch, Grindelwald dodged it with a deftness that alluded to the possibility that all this time, he had been playing with Graves. It left a hollow dread in his stomach just thinking about it – wondering if he was losing his touch. But he didn’t have more than a second to dwell on it before the momentum of his failed attack sent him into a stumble that left Graves crashing into the ground, one hand falling into the water._

_It felt blessedly cool against the tattered skin of his palms – kind and soothing and glowing gently green where his skin touched it. Dazed, he blinked at it. Then quickly pulled his hand back when he realized what it was in. He scuttled back from the pool’s edge, eyes wide and hand cradled to his chest. But nothing happened. It was the same water – old and ancient and seething with magic. It had the same effect – bone deep and seeking out the core of him. But it did nothing…_

_There was something Graves was missing._

_“Figured it out yet, dearest?” Grindelwald whispered in his ear, suddenly behind him. And Graves had no more than a moment to register that before a force of kinetic energy lifted him from the ground and flung him several feet away – well into the center of the mysterious pool of water._

_He felt coins scatter beneath his feet as he sought to right himself. He arose from the pool in a great, heaving gasp – hair sopping wet and plastered to his face. Standing now, the water came just ever so slightly higher than his stomach. His clothing, or what was left of it after his heat, gripped him tightly as he tried to push his mop of inky hair back from his eyes._

_“W-what the hell—?” Graves words died in his throat as he caught sight of Grindelwald at the shoreline, staring at him. There was a predatory glint to his eyes the likes of which Graves wasn’t sure he had ever seen before – cold and ancient and knowing. He watched as the man’s lips pulled slowly to each side in a devilish smirk, and it took Graves a good moment to understand why._

_All around him in a soft halo, the water was glowing green. Sparkling and twinkling where it touched him. Frantic, he brushed at the water as if to push it away, but it merely followed his hand – never straying._

_“Then it’s true,” Grindelwald said, his smirk transforming into a radiant smile that left Graves wide-eyed, baffled, and terrified. He took a step backward as Grindelwald took a step forward and into the pool. And the moment his foot breached the water, a thick black ink spread from him. Small at first, but with every inch of skin that submerged further into the pool, the blackness spread – reaching out like menacing tendrils – eclipsing the treasure beneath._

_Graves looked from the monstrous black water to the man responsible and shook his head. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He turned to run, unaware of the altar at his back, and immediately slammed into it. He cried out, startled and ribs bruised, hands braced against the altar’s edge. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed that Grindelwald was indeed still approaching and the black, inky mass that came with him was even closer._

_With a deep, steadying breath he readied his magic – and all around him, the green water that haloed him grew brighter, excited – and twisted to send another blast of raw energy at the man, only to be jerked back to the altar. His hands… he couldn’t move his hands. And a quick glance down set a familiar dread building in his stomach. Beneath his palms where his hands met the altar, a series of arcane runes slowly began to alight. Slow and soft at first, but gently growing and spreading across the table as well as his hands, crawling across his skin painlessly, but binding him all the same._

_“W-what?”_

_His heart began to jackrabbit in his chest. He yanked at his hands. He tried to ease magic into the runes cautiously only for the table to greedily take it as its own – the runes only glowing brighter. And when a chuckle blossomed gently from somewhere behind him, his heart only exploded into an even more furious crescendo, suddenly painfully aware that he was caught with his back to his country’s greatest enemy and his ass to his rapist._

_“Ssh, ssh, ssh,” Grindelwald cooed, and a quick look down was all Graves needed to know he had run out of time. The black tendrils had reached him. He watched as they crept closer and closer – only to stop a mere inch from the gentle glow of the water that encompassed him. Graves blinked. Could it not touch him?_

_“Not yet,” Grindelwald said, the heat of his skin suddenly behind him as a pair of hands found his sides and gently pet him._

_“Don’t touch me!” Graves snarled, a wild glint in his eye at having realized how close Grindelwald had gotten. He lashed out with a leg and managed to take one of the dark wizard’s legs out at the knee – but it didn’t matter. Graves had nowhere to run. All he could do was wait, back rigid and every muscle screaming as Grindelwald took his time composing himself behind the captured director, just out of sight._

_“Careful, Percival,” he said, and there was no playfulness in his tone this time._

_But all Graves did was crane his head over his shoulder and snarl again, “I said don’t touch me.”_

_And in response, Grindelwald smiled and spread his hands out at his sides._

_“Do you know why we’re here, dearest?”_

_“Don’t call me that,” Graves said._

_Grindelwald ignored him._

_“It’s an old place, just on the edge of our world and the Nevernever. Older than magic or spells as we know them now. Before we curtailed ourselves to words and foci. You remember the stories, don’t you? No doubt your family taught you them, old as your blood is. Of places where the lines between magic and creation are thinner. More malleable.”_

_With a sweeping pull of water at  his back, he felt Grindelwald pass around him until the man had come to stand in front of him, just on the other side of the altar. The glowing of the runes atop the carved stop glittered in the unnatural mixmatching of color in Grindelwald’s eyes, alighting with something cruel and curious and feral. Graves pulled uselessly at his bonds._

_“This is such a place,” Grindelwald said, his smile growing as he watched Graves struggle. “It recognizes us for what we are. What we could be.”_

_“And what’s that?” Graves finally snarled, glaring up at the madman through trembling wet bangs._

_“The start of a new generation.”_

_“Not going to happen.”_

_“There’s power in the old ways,” Grindelwald said, ignoring him and instead moving once more to stand behind him, out of sight. “Power unlike anything we comprehend or practice today. Power in new life,” he said, one hand settling on the hard plane of Graves’ stomach, making the director frown with confusion before pressing on, “power in old families, like ours,” and he pressed his chin against the broad stretch of Graves’ shoulder so that he could whisper into the man’s ear as he said, “power in the coupling of mates as magically inclined as we are.”_

_“We aren’t mates,” Graves stuttered, trying to force out the panic that threatened to choke him._

_“Not_ bonded _mates, no,” Grindelwald conceded, before switching ears and smiling against the skin of jaw, “Not yet.”_

_And then with a cruel, deft tug – he yanked the abused hem of Graves’ trousers down until they floated uselessly around Graves’ ankles, caught up at his shoes and doing a marvelous job of binding Graves’ legs. He cursed and struggled and tried to maneuver the constricting fabric off at least one foot so he could fight back somehow. And all the while, he could feel the sway of water moving behind him and knew instantly that Grindelwald was freeing his cock from his own trousers._

_“Magic is more fluid here,” Grindelwald said as his fingers then brushed along the crease of Graves’ ass and delved deeper, just brushing against his entrance. Graves snarled like a wild animal and twisted out of his grasp – bound by his hands but no less wily. It wasn’t until Grindelwald snarled back in kind and grasped him at the back of his neck as he had done before that Graves calmed._

_But his heart didn’t. Inside he seethed as outside his body stilled and grew compliant. He screamed through bared teeth as Grindelwald easily bent him forward then to rest his chest and cheek against the cool stone of the altar. Immediately more runes began to glow, rising and spreading and crawling beneath his clothes and across his skin to glue him even further to the altar. Face to the side as it was, all he could see was the span of his own hand and wrist bound tight to the stone beside him, fingers twitching helpless for magic the table just ate away._

_“There we go,” Grindelwald said and ran a soothing hand through the wet mop of his hair. “Much better.”_

_One hand returned to the bare skin of his waist as the other resumed its teasing at his entrance._

_“As I was saying, magic is fluid here. Words mean nothing here. Spells are pointless. It’s all a matter of will. My will against yours. The will of this pool against us both. Which brings us to the task at hand.”_

_Grindelwald nosed the loose collar of Graves’ poor, battered shirt aside to nibble at the sensitive flesh of his shoulder –_ oh so near that special place – _and smiled._

_“I need a way to restrain you. Something that will keep you busy for the days to come,” he said, then kissed his shoulder chastely. “And so I brought you here, where I could craft bonds made especially for you.”_

_And all Graves could do was stare ahead, wide-eyed and heart pumping furiously in his breast as Grindelwald grinned down from above him._

_“Let’s begin, shall we?”_

_And then that finger was penetrating him, eased by the water that entered him the moment Grindelwald’s finger pierced him – lighting him up from the inside. He gasped, mouth open against the stone as that feeling of being searched by the water returned tenfold. He wriggled uselessly as Grindelwald added another finger._

_“You’re so pretty like this, dearest,” he said, his tone soft and whimsical as though they were two lovers enjoying a nice stroll rather than whatever the fuck they really were. Graves bit his cheek and growled. If the pool responded to_ will _, why wasn’t it fucking throttling Grindelwald like he was_ willing it to do? _Was Grindelwald’s will stronger than his?_

_Did the pool want this?_

_Grindelwald added another finger and Graves just barely bit back a moan as it glanced against that swollen, needy spot within him. His lashes fluttered for just a moment before he steeled himself again. No. He wasn’t in his heat. He would not enjoy this. He would not give that lunatic the satisfaction._

_“Bent over and soft, just waiting for me. So obedient,” he said as if it wasn’t taking magic centuries old to contain him, “And good. My Omega, my pretty little mate.”_

_All around him, the green light that encompassed him began to glow ever so slightly brighter. Graves blinked, breath coming shorter as he realized the water was somehow reacting to Grindelwald’s perverted words in some way. He shook his head but could move no further._

_“This will be so good for us,” the dark wizard said as though this had always been the plan, rather than the truth – that mere days ago they had been enemies, not lovers._

_“You’re fucking crazy,” Graves managed to spit against the stone, water brushing across his lips._

_“You’ll understand soon, dear thing,” Grindelwald crooned, the steadying hand at his waist moving to brush across his belly again. “It’ll all make sense soon. The poison you flooded your body with will well and truly be gone after this, and with it, your true nature can finally blossom.”_

_The runes glowed brighter. Graves began to struggle anew, fruitlessly._

_“Your body will become what it always should have been. Small. Soft. Ripe,” he whispered, easing him open, being sure to hit his prostate with every pass – working Graves’ gut into a slow and growing burn. Graves bit his lip and scrunched his eyes closed, turning his mind to anything and everything that would keep his libido disinterested. In the water as he was, though, he couldn’t tell if he was slick or leaking. All he had was the burning in his gut and the steadily growing light of the runes around him – bleeding into his skin with every word Grindelwald said._

_“With this gift,” Grindelwald said against his ear as he withdrew his fingers and instead aligned something thicker and far more familiar at his hole, “I can help you finally be what you were meant to be. I can make you whole. And together, we can free our kind, Percival. We can make birth to a new era, more powerful than ever before. Together.”_

_“Never,” Graves snarled._

_Gentle fingers brushed back his hair so that Graves could just barely see the man out of the corner of his eye when he smiled, “It’ll be sooner than you think, dear heart,” and entered him in one long, smooth thrust._

_And deep in his belly it felt like coming home – and that alone terrified him. It felt like everything suddenly falling into place, and although the logical part of his mind was telling him that feeling was just his biology talking, responding to the reappearance of the pheromones of the Alpha that had spent his heat with him – his heart couldn’t help but shatter. No, he couldn’t like this. He shouldn’t like this. But even now, he could feel a wide gush of slick ebb out from deep inside him and ooze around the girth within him. He could feel the hot, heavy girth of the Alpha atop him; could feel how it anchored him down. Against the stone, he could feel his own dick responding, rubbing painfully against the altar. It didn’t stop his hips from jerking, seeking movement that Grindelwald took his time in providing._

_And above him, the man chuckled – amused by his hips disobedient actions._

_“You want this,” he said, and Graves shivered. Grindelwald placed a heavy, domineering hand atop the small of his back and pressed him down. Graves keened. “You want to be taken. To be put in your place. It’s in your nature, dearest. To submit, to be spread and filled. You were made to love it. And if this is what it takes to help you enjoy your true nature, then I’ll gladly make you chains that will remind you as often as you need.”_

_Graves blinked._

_“W-what?”_

_“Why else do you think we’re here?” Grindelwald chuckled, hips thrusting patiently behind him, driving him slowly mad beneath the pressure of their excruciating pace. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop his hips from pressing back – eager and begging. He pressed his forehead against the stone and squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed. Grindelwald kissed his brow._

_“Once we’re done here, every time you use magic you’ll remember this,” he said, thrusting harder now into the depths of him – the black ink slowly bleeding into the gentle green that shimmered around him and crawling up the stone. “You’ll remember the heft of my cock spreading you open. You’ll think of the weight of me on your tongue. You’ll feel my fingers against the deepest parts of you and you’ll know the feeling of my lips around you. You’ll remember every part of me, every part of this, and you’ll be brought low beneath the weight of that desire. Every spell, every wandless compulsion – all of it will build and build, leeched from you and all driven here,” he said, grasping the hard length of his dick against his belly and_ clenching _, “to leave you hard and humping my sheets until I come home.”_

_“N-no,” Graves breathed, hating the way his voice cracked. Hating himself for getting caught. Hating God or the gods or whatever force at hand that saw fit to make him an Omega._

_“Yes,” Grindelwald said, lips pressed fiercely to the shell of his ear as he hiked his hips ever so slightly higher – Graves’ feet now completely off the ground and at the mercy of Grindelwald’s grasp around his waist – before pounding him in earnest. “You’ll think of this moment and you’ll beg for it. You’ll beg for me.”_

_“No,” Graves breathed again, fingers curling, unaware of the black ink that rose from the depths of the pool to inch ever so slowly towards him on the altar’s surface._

_The burning in his gut turned into an inferno – the green halo that had surrounded him burning ever brighter now as he fast approached his end. He bit his lip. He keened, he cried. He shuddered freely beneath the relentless pounding of the Alpha atop him – pushed and pushed and pushed until finally, something opened in him like a dam and burst free, lighting his vision white even as that length within him stilled and grew, only to erupt in the deepest parts of him._

_And as his vision slowly returned, he felt Grindelwald peck a series of soft kisses to the back of his neck before whispering, lips grazing the skin of his nape all the while, “Hold on, dearest.”_

_“What?”_

_He blinked away the haze of his orgasm to focus on the sight of thick black tendrils nearly upon him. He blinked again, dumbly, then all once came back to his senses and tried to jerk away, only for that hand to eclipse and grip the back of his neck one last time – making him limp just as the ink reached him._

_And the moment it brushed him, he felt his heart stop. It was cold – cold in a sense so dark and so deep, it might as well have been as fathomless as the very darkest, most impenetrable parts of the ocean. It crept into his skin and it pierced and it dug and it bled deep down into the bones of him, first one wrist and then the other. And with every inch gained, he felt more of it. The cruelty of it. The unending rage of it. The desire and the fangs and the feral need for power. He saw everything as Grindelwald wished it to be. The future – the wizarding world in its rightful place. No Majs laid low. And_ him _, with kiss swollen lips and blissed out eyes, sprawled out on silk sheets that framed the heavy curve of his pregnant belly. Legs spread and curled around the thin and powerful waist of the man that had stripped the world as Percival knew it bare and remade it. A scar stark and ruddy upon his throat – his bonding gland._

_Graves screamed. He heard the sound of his horror echo all around him. And on and on and on the tendrils pressed. Swirling deep into his skin, spreading blood across the altar. It dug and it clawed and it crept until the black thing settled, swirling contently in his skin like fresh blood in water._

_And it was done._

_Grindelwald kissed the sweat slick skin of his throat, of his untaken gland, of his brow and praised him with soft words and kinder lips. But the pain lingered. It shook tremors from his skin and rattled his bones into dust._

_And as Graves neared the end of consciousness, he prayed – and the only thing that answered was the echoes of his screams._

 

**_TO BE CONTINUED_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The origins of the tattoos, as requested.  
> More to come.


End file.
